Rooftop
by blender-mashup-mockup
Summary: Probably the first crack fic for August Rush—a movie that strangely does not lend well to these things. Let's just say that the arch sequence didn't exactly start off that well.
1. The brothers

_Nobody's ever written a crack-like story for this particular movie, and this idea came to mind. So, I've decided to give it a whack. This may or may not eventually end up being referenced somewhere in my other August Rush fan fic. _

_As a teaser, did anyone ever notice something funny about the harmonica guy at the arch?

* * *

_

There were about five or six of them, brothers from the looks of it, but only two of them seem to catch his attention. The younger, level-headed-looking one was bickering with the apparent oldest. Two of them were carrying various odd instruments; they were travelling musicians from what can be inferred. Nonetheless, one thing was certain; they were loud, confrontational, and Irish.

He could easily have ignored their arguing; what use does he, a homeless man, for the petty squabbles of foreigners?

Plenty.

The Irishmen walked wearily, exhausted and hung over from a lack of sleep, blue eyes almost a bloodshot purple from what he could make out. He stood from his bench, and began to listen. The older of the brothers (the oldest, perhaps) was fuming mad, though nonetheless jocular. Apparently the night before, the youngest of the brothers snuck out of the hotel room that night and is somewhere in the city. They were due to leave very soon and time was of the essence.

The scruffy redheaded man stood up and approached the brothers slowly, harmonica in hand. The Irishmen took notice and were dumbstruck.

"Excuse me," he politely stated, tipping his ten-gallon hat. "I can't help but overhear, you seem to be missing someone."

"That depends," said the older, stubble-faced brother, "Ya seen a boy who's 5'10, about 18 but seems older at first glance, and somehow looks like a girl?"

"Sounds familiar. Irish, too."

"That sounds about right," said the younger, longer-haired brother, "Can you tell us where last saw 'im, ya did?"

He knew very well who they were looking for. _That brat on the rooftop._


	2. That night, overture

_By this time, you should already have guessed who the kid is. It isn't August._

* * *

After so many things that went wrong with his life, the soothing sound of a simple instrument was just enough to let him get by, at least for the night. Every now and then a kind schmuck would drop him a dime. Music was something he knew he was good at; some of his more regular acquaintances had dubbed him "The Wizard," given his almost magical skill with instruments. The harmonica in particular was among his favorites, and he's received praise from strangers on how beautiful he made it sound. It wasn't enough to turn his life around for the better (he's given up on that years ago), but it does help him get through the day somehow, content as he and others were on the enchantment of his harmonica.

Last night, however, someone had to hold the opposite opinion.

"Hey you, harmonica man!" Said a loud, heavily accented boorish voice from atop a nearby bar within earshot of Washington Square Park.

He looked up, tipping his hat upwards. The voice came from what appeared to be a young person (what his age was could not be ascertained; he looked like he was in his mid to late 20s, but his voice indicated otherwise).

"Ya tried actually doin' something else with that thing?"

"What?"

"It sounds like a fecking car horn it does."

"Hey kiddo, let's see you do better!"

Everyone's a critic. Exactly how the in the world could they keep communicating like that without so much as attracting attention, he couldn't understand. But one thing's for sure; Maxwell Wallace does not back down from a challenge from Irish teenagers sitting on rooftops. Granted, this was the first time anyone has ever challenged him to do better with a harmonica… by himself… without an audience.

"I don't have a harmonica. Try playing something else."

And so he did. He picked a classic; the William Tell Overture—high brow enough to be a testament to talent while familiar enough for the common man to appreciate.

But not this kid. It apparently reminded him of a classic Western chase scene. He's doesn't seem to be a very big fan of Westerns, too.

"And wha' the feck are ya wearin', ya look like a cowboy. What are ya? The Texas Ranger of Manhattan?" The boy said, chuckling quietly (if "quiet" was the best way to describe it).

"I'll have you know—"

"Know what? That the Lone Ranger's gonna ge' me."

"Would you just stop it?"

"Eh, wha' are you gonna do about it? I'm up here."

"What kind of horrible person would pick on a homeless man?"

"I kinda figured as such. You don't look like ya took a shower in weeks."

"Get down here, Eurotrash, and face me like a man."

"I don't hit women."

"Neither do I; what's your excuse, little girl?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, you heard me, bub. You like a freaking girl."

"How can you tell?"

The Wizard didn't have a good answer for that.

"You gonna play or what?"

"Well what if I don't want to."

"Fine by me. I got you to shut up."

"What?"

"I hate harmonicas."

Oh no he didn't.

* * *

_Acoustics in a major city would probably make this scene a bit unwieldy and improbable in real life, but hey, so is the rest of the movie. As you may have figured by now, the teenager on the roof of the bar is Louis. I do not currently have the luxury of time to make this longer, much as I would like to, but this'll have to do for now. I will try to update this and the other August Rush fan fiction I'm writing as soon as I can._

_Although telling people I don't own August Rush (until I actually earn enough money to invest in Warner Brothers, and even then…) is basically useless in a copyright sense, it is TRADITION; hence this._

_I don't own either of the two characters or the movie they star in. If I did, Louis would be slightly funnier and Robin Williams would have free rein to ham it up._


End file.
